


hayloft

by sanguination



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anxiety, Blood, M/M, References to Depression, but enjoy :), but not really! the blood is a metaphor, like really bad, this is... bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:21:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23451637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguination/pseuds/sanguination
Summary: for all the boys who break their own hearts
Relationships: Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	hayloft

Kenma loves Kuroo's hands. 

Kuroo is all lean muscle and tendons, broad shoulders and long fingers, barking laugh and wild hair. His presence is undeniable in every room that he takes up space in, and Kenma loves him for it. Kenma prefers not to have a tangible presence, no matter where he is–he'd rather keep his head down and his hands to himself, content to observe. He plays his part when he's needed, and not much else.

Kuroo has never complained about Kenma's almost-painful level of introversion. He recognizes that he has enough personality to speak for the both of them in most situations, and instead of forcing Kenma to step out of his comfort zone, he simply keeps one of those large, rough hands on Kenma's shoulder or thigh or splayed across his waist to serve as a silent _I've got this_. Kenma will never, ever admit out loud how much he _loves_ it when Kuroo does that, when he keeps Kenma close to him with the simplest of gestures. 

Occasionally, however, Kenma does have something to say, and Kuroo has never stepped on his toes when he does. It's not that Kenma doesn't have a personality–in fact, his personality too much for Kuroo to handle sometimes. He'd just rather keep the most vulnerable parts of himself private, and to Kenma, every part of him is vulnerable. He has never been the boy who wears his heart on his sleeve, unlike Kuroo, who displays every emotion like it's radiating from every part of his body. 

Kenma likes Shouyou because he's a lot like Kuroo in that aspect—he has never been afraid to bare every part of him in every conversation he has. Hinata Shouyou gushes sentiment in the way he holds himself as he walks, the way he speaks, in every facial expression. Kuroo has never had a conversation with Shouyou past small talk, but Kenma has always thought they might get along. Sometimes, Kenma wishes he were more like them and could hold his bleeding heart for all to see. He tries, and tries, and the bleeding only makes him dizzy. The blood drips down between his fingers, and Kenma can't clean it up fast enough. So he keeps his heart tucked away, seen only in hidden smiles and quick glances. Blood gathers in his pockets, but he doesn't mind. It's better than mopping it up from the hard floor. 

Kuroo understands Kenma in more profound ways than Kenma even understands himself, and he doesn't attempt to tear his guard down. Kenma will always be grateful to him for that—that he doesn't force Kenma to do anything he doesn't want to do, and he respects Kenma enough to always listen to him with the most intention whenever he does decide to speak up. He has a wonderful way of quietly showing his love, Kenma realizes, and he has never seen Kuroo be so subtle about absolutely anything else.

Kenma truly does love Kuroo's hands, though, and he almost fixates on them. He has seen those hands clawing and scratching and caressing and pulling and stroking, and he's felt those fingers in his mouth, searching his teeth, and Kenma sometimes wishes that he could just have Kuroo's hands on him all the time—that's when he feels the safest.

He really, really wants those hands on him now. 

Kuroo sleeps like the dead, but Kenma is practically nocturnal. He stays up playing video games most nights, or binge-watching a new true crime series, but sometimes, on nights like these, he goes outside and sits cross-legged in the front lawn of their apartment building. 

The grass is a bright, artificial green, and Kenma jerks up handfuls of it like his life depends on it. Only the sheer moonlight, shining on him like a spotlight, can know how he feels on these sort of nights. The blood sitting in his pockets soaks through, but he can’t move his body fast enough to clean it up. 

He sits there in the wet grass with thick, rich blood pooling around him, hot tears sliding down his cheeks. Is this what being open is? Kenma’s openness, visible only to the cicadas and the man in the moon, swallows him whole in the wee hours of the morning. He doesn’t know how much longer he can survive like this, guarding himself from everyone except the nighttime. 

Kenma tears up the lawn, dirt gathering under his fingernails, and Kuroo is still sleeping. He sleeps, and he sleeps, and he sleeps.

Kenma wants to vomit. 

His vulnerability is feverish, demanding, and much too obvious. He’s being _smothered_ , pressed into his pillow by an unseen hand, and Kuroo simply observes. It’s not his fault. Kenma doesn’t scream for help, he doesn’t even make a sound, how could he know? 

Kenma lifts his limp body from the grass, his limbs heavy, and creeps back into their flat to crawl into bed with Kuroo. 

The bedsheets are soaked from his bleeding heart.

**Author's Note:**

> okay so i know this is kinda sad 🥺 but i’ve been dying to write kuroken and this honestly... is kind of a reflection of myself. i put a lot of myself into my writing and this is just what’s been going on in my brain and i took it out on poor kenma 😅 anyway hope you enjoy !!!!! if you feel moved to leave a comment please do !!!!! i love you all!


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